


Even If It Hurts

by roraruu



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, College backdrop, F/M, Fluff and Humor, OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24316885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roraruu/pseuds/roraruu
Summary: Time and lives intersect for a brief moment at a party that Python's snuck into and Silque has been dragged along with. Over the course of a few days, their lives and ages passed, intertwine.
Relationships: Python/Silque (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Even If It Hurts

Python remembers a soft voice singing a melody. Something nameless, something plain. The voice was gentle, sweet too. It was the one that stirred him from his budding hangover.

He remembers looking up, seeing someone in the corner of an old tent working away. Too small and dainty to be a man, too tall to be a little girl. And he’s too drunk to be anyone he actually knows.

He watches as this lady moves about the tent deftly and quietly. He stares through bleary eyes for a long while, watching as she folds gauze for bandages, sweeps the tent with an old broom, folds linens and sorts through a pile of laundry.

He gets a few glimpses at her face: sharp but soft, with a blunt haircut hidden by a veil. Her eyes are soft, steel grey in colour that rivals dark skies.

She finally notices that he’s conscious. She scoops up another wooden bucket and brings it over to him, sitting it by the cot. She passes over a skin of water. His tongue feels thick and cottony, his mouth dry.

“Another night of drinking?” She asks, staring at him with those eyes.

He stares at her as she takes the water skin and turns away. “Promise me you’ll try better.” She asks. 

For whatever reason, he croaks out a plead: “Only if you promise me a kiss."

* * *

The sounds of the party rattle and crash against his head. He’s had too much to drink, yet again. His tongue is thick with beer and vodka—always a bad idea to mix—nausea swells up like a great wave in his stomach.

He needs a bathroom, or a sink at least.

The party’s music is so loud that it beats against his head, threatening to shatter his brain with music. He’s lost Forsyth and Lukas; or maybe they lost him, tired of dealing with his drunken escapades. Truly, Python can’t blame them. 

He finds out, onto a balcony and pukes in an ornamental plant’s bowl. He retches for a few minutes until the alcohol is gone from his stomach, along with whatever else he ate today. 

When Python sits up, there’s a girl beside him. “Hey there, it’s okay.” She says gently. Her voice is soothing, calming to his ears. Through drunk eyes, he stares at her. She’s got blue hair in a crop cut, with a grey turtleneck, blue skirt and white knit cardigan. Her eyes aren’t quite black but neither blue; like a mix of the two to make grey.

She offers him a water bottle, he drinks from it. He grumbles a thanks as she takes it back and wets a little blue handkerchief. She pushes his fringe back to dab it across his hot forehead. Her hands are calming against his skin.

“Too much to drink?” She asks, moving from a squat to sit beside him. She pulls him back to rest his head in her lap.

He nods. “Just a little.”

“You should know your limit. Pay attention to what your body tells you.”

He scoffs. “Who are you, my Mom?” He slurs, drunkenly smiling. She stares at her as she stops dabbing his forehead. 

“No, I’m a nurse in training, and you could get alcohol poisoning if you kept this up.”

“What’s a nurse doing at a party?”

“Making sure those like you don’t end up in the emergency room tonight.”

He stays silent, staring at her face. She reminds him of someone. She tucks her skirt under her legs and continues to dab at the sweat on his face. “So you came alone?” He asks. “Lame way to spend your Saturday night.”

“No.” She says, looking elsewhere.

“That says otherwise.”

“I came with a friend and she went off.” 

“Oh, so you’re the party-guard.” Her brow furrows, pulling away from him. Her hand falls into her lap. “You look like one too.”

“What’s a party-guard and what’s it got to do with this?” She asks.

“You make sure everyone’s okay, even people out of your group.” He says. “Usually the DD, holds everyone’s stuff while they get plastered or get lucky. You make sure no one gets locked up or fucked up. You’re the mom of the party.”

She frowns, almost glaring at him. She seems too soft for that, too kind. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“You don’t get to have any fun yourself.” He says. “And it spreads. Next thing you know you’re teaching Sunday school and passing out at 9 pm.”

The girl grows annoyed, frowning. “What if I do? Is it so bad to give back?” She says. “And besides I’m here now.”

Python laughs, hard. He shakes his head. “When you do go to parties you end up spending the party alone and taking care of some drunk guy you don’t know.” 

The girl lifts a book to her side. “Not true.” She waves a paperback—probably a harlequin romance or some trash like that. “I was reading before you came.”

“Still, you were alone. Poor party-guard.” He sighs.

“I pity you more.” She says. “You’ll have one large headache tomorrow.”

“And?”

“And it will ruin your day.” She says, as if he doesn’t understand. A headache won’t stop him; pop an ibuprofen, drink a few hangover cures (if its that bad) and he’ll be fine.

“Takes more than a hangover to ruin my day, sweetheart.”

She folds up her handkerchief and tucks it back into her skirt pocket. He realizes now that there’s pinstripes going down it. His eyes wander back to her as she picks up her book and gets to her feet. She brushes off the dust from her skirt, her boots, her bottom and holds out her hand. “Come on, up now.”

He stares at her. “Why?”

“I’m going to deliver you back to your friends, and then find mine and leave.”

“Deliver me? Jeez, what are you from the 16th century?”

“Hush that tongue of yours.”

Python repeats the question. “Why?”

“I have work tomorrow and I don’t particularly enjoy looking after a man I do not know.” 

He scoffs. “You and my friends too.”

Her face falls a little. She takes a breath. “Odd one out?”

He nods. “Yeah. A slacker doesn’t have a lot in common with overachievers.” He smirks. He forces a laugh that doesn’t comfort her. Instead she leans down, resting back on her knees. 

“Well neither do I. But still, our friends are our friends. We should find them.” She looks a little closer to him as if he will start to cooperate. “Do you have a cellphone?”

“You sound like someone from 1992.” He laughs. He shifts up, pulling out his phone. The screen’s cracked. He cusses. “Shattered the screen. Again.”

“Oh dear. That’s unfortunate.” She says.

“Lukas and Forsyth went home already. Figures.” 

“Your friends?”

“My ride.” He says, glancing over the balcony railing. “Subway shuts down in an hour too.”

She clears her throat. “Well, I suppose I could give you a ride.” She says before glancing to him. “Unless you would criticize the party-guard.” 

Python sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not in this situation, at least.”

The girl holds out her hand. “Come along then. My friends are all staying here for the night.” She says. “I’ll pick them up in the morning.”

Python takes her hand, cool and calming in his. His brow furrows, the feeling of I’ve been here before washing over him like a great wave. He ignores it as she slows her pace, wrapping his arm over her shoulder. It does little for him, as she’s barely 5’3 and he’s 6’2. “Hey, I’m not an invalid, okay.” He jokes. He feels a queasy feeling in his stomach as she shoulders him in, like he's been here before.  


“Just use me as your crutch for as long as you need.” She says, walking slowly to match his pace. The party is still going, albeit less excited as before. Heavy bass still plays, but at a lower volume. It’s warm, a wall of heat hitting the two as the girl navigates them through a dozen people. They pass through the house—he can’t remember who’s place this is, just that they had free beer from a warm kegger—reaching the outdoors once again. It reeks of weed, a couple blazing on the porch.

“I’m parked just down the street.” She says, the stone turning into grass. When he gets into her car, everything begins to fade. Nothing sticks to his memory, except her reaching for his phone and calling for Lukas and Forsyth to pick him up.

* * *

“Promise me a kiss.” Python says.

The cleric’s brow furrows, wrinkling her entire face. She still looks pretty. “Why?”

“Because you’re too perfect.”

“How can I be perfect?”

“You’re a cleric, you keep everyone alive. Mila above you’re like an angel who walks among sinners.” Python sighs, keeping his gaze on her. “I just want one thing to make you seem human.”

“I am human though. I don’t deserve the praise you give me.”

“Without you we’d all be dead.”

She stays silent, looking elsewhere.

“All I want is something to prove that you’re not everything that I crack you up to be.”

“You really think so highly of me?” She asks, her voice softening. He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol messing with his vision or what, but he swears that there’s a blush on her cheeks.

“Like I said, we’d all be pushing daisies otherwise.”

* * *

Forsyth and Lukas give him an earful the next morning. At least he didn’t puke again. When the lecture is done—and truth be told, he ignored most of it—Python scrounges up enough change for a coffee.

Forsyth, following his step since they could both walk, knows exactly what he’s doing. As he sifts through his pants pockets for few more coins, his dear old friend nudges him. “Get me one too.” He says. “It’s the least you could do for ditching us last night.”

Python tries to think of something Forsyth hates. Rich coffees. “Oh I’m getting one of those... aw fuck what do you call them… Lattes—“

“Just get me a coffee. Lukas one too, he’s been writing for hours, the poor guy.”

Python groans before reaching for the keys to Forsyth’s car--Lukas’s are out but he doesn’t feel comfortable taking a sportscar; he can replace parts in Forsyth’s rust bucket if the thing dies, not for a fuckign sportscar. He glances over his shoulder. He considers saying that he didn’t ditch them, but he knows that it won’t go over well. The girl who dropped him off last night called Lukas and woke him up. Python doesn’t remember shit from the ride home last night, just flickers and bits of her. Fingers tapping against a wheel, soft and sweet humming of an old song in that car, her leaning over him to make sure he wasn’t dead.

Before he knows it, he’s down at the cafe on the corner, just a few minutes’ ride on his bike from their place. It’s a gloomy little day outside, the makings of late fall coming along quickly. He’ll have to lock up his bike sooner than later, making errands more annoying, and having to beg Forsyth for his car on jobs far out. Either that, or taking the subway to the boss’s and hoping that someone would give him a ride.

Or winter could not come at all. He’d like that. He’s always hated the cold.

He opens the door to the coffee shop, stepping in and waiting in line for a few minutes. He takes his phone out of his pocket, swearing when he remembers that the screen is cracked from last night. His reflection is shattered in the glass. That’ll be a pretty penny, a good cut from whatever he can spend on beer. Maybe if he sweet-talks Forsyth and makes empty promises he’ll give him the name of someone who can fix it for cheap. He places his hand in his denim pocket, fingers running over the little bit of change that’s supposed to buy the three of them coffee.

Python feels someone tap his shoulder. The line has moved. He half turns his head, about ready to tell the person behind him to hold their horses, that it’s just a line, but they speak before he can. 

“You again! I’m glad to see that you’re upright and sober. Or at least sobering.”

The girl from the party. She wears a little smile, simpering on her doll-like face. Her voice is playful and sincere. “Coffee does do wonders for the brain.” She jokes, her smile leaching into her voice.

Python rolls his eyes, taking a step closer to the register. The air smells of coffee beans and brewing tea, buttery croissants and sweet cookies. It makes him slightly nauseous, but nothing a hot coffee can’t fix. “I’ll call it a wonder if it can kill this hangover.”

“Hm, maybe that will teach you your lesson.” She smirks. Her hands link behind her back.

The line shifts closer. He orders three coffees, barely pulling enough change before the girl slips up behind him. 

“A hot green tea and a caramel apple cider too.” She says, producing a bill. She hands it over before glancing at him. “I will take care of this.”

Python pockets his measly change as the barista takes the bill and hands over her change. She wishes the two a good day before glancing down for the next customer. They wander towards the pickup counter. 

“You know, I got one hell of a lecture from getting a ride for you.” He says.

“Really? Did I cause that much trouble?” She asks, simpering again. She’s a playful one.

He nods. “Oh hell yeah you did. So much trouble that I’m on coffee duty.” Python says before stepping back from her wandering feet. “And buying the coffee that’s supposed to ply my roommates isn’t helping.”

“I don’t believe it’s my fault that you drank so much.” She fights a smile, her hands returning to their spot behind her back. She wears a purple shirt with a pair of leggings under a knee-length pleated skirt. There’s a thick sweater over her shoulders and a leather purse on her arm.

“Got me there.” Python says a little defeatedly.

“I never did get your name.” She says, holding her hand out for a shake. “I’m Silque, and you are?”

He feels another swell of déjà vu, like he’s been here before. It’s worse than the hangover’s nausea. He wonders if he’s seen her before, in another time or place, another life.

No no. He’s been here before. Of course he has, this coffee shop is close to his place and the coffee is cheap and decent. But he feels like he’s done this before with her, introductions in the exact same way, with the exact same words.

“Name’s Python.” He takes her hand and shakes it. The swell gets bigger like a great wave. For a second, her touch reminds him of something softer, something more precious than what it is right now. He stares at her for a moment too long. He looks away, towards the busy barista working the espresso machine. “You on coffee duty too?”

She nods. “My friend’s running late so I thought I’d grab her something to drink for when she arrives.” She says. “And your roommates are just waking?”

“One’s been writing since he got up at 8.” He says. “Been at the university library all morning.”

Silque glances at him before raising a brow. “A desperately needed coffee run then, very important.” She says as the barista calls for the coffees Silque ordered. “I shouldn’t keep you then.”

He stops, still wondering how he knows her. If it’s just one of those weird lapses of the mind where he thinks that he knows her, but she’s nothing more than a kind stranger. “Hey, you got a phone right?” He asks.

She nods, reaching into her bag and pulling out a flip phone. He stares dumbly at it. “That isn’t your phone.”

She nods. “It most certainly is.” She says, flipping up the top. It even makes a little chime. Python only stares at it, bewildered that it is 2020 and she owns a fucking flip phone. “Did you want my number?”

“I’m reconsidering at the sight of that thing.” He says. 

Silque shakes her head. “At least my screen isn’t shattered.” She simpers again as the barista calls for her drinks. She steps past him picking them up. “Take care, Python.”

* * *

The cleric sits down on the cot, the mattress sinking lower as she lifts his head into her lap. She’s gentle with him, as if he is made of glass, sand, ice... something precious and fragile. But blood and bone are just as breakable.

Her touch is tender, one of her holy hands moving to cup his head. The other rests over his chest with less weight than a baby bird. He touches her arm, his hand curling around it as her fingers run along the side of his chest. Under the weight of his heavy clothes, he can feel the warmth of her tender touch. Touched by an angel, he should feel blessed.

“Some would consider your request as misguided.” She says softly.

He laughs a little, shutting his eyes. “Me? Misguided? What would give it away?”

His eyes flutter open a little as she fights a smile, biting at the corners of her lips. “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea, Sir Python.”

* * *

The study room is almost silent, save for the clack of Lukas’s computer keys. He’s knee-deep in a research paper, having dragged Python along for assistance. He’s the runner, renewing the books when the hour-long lease is up and digging through the stacks for him. 

Python’s sitting in a particularly uncomfortable chair, only cushioned by his empty backpack. He crosses his arms over his chest, another chair supporting his outstretched legs. He thinks that for all the tuition all the students pay for, that they could at least afford cushions or some shit for their chairs. He’s almost certain that he can’t feel his back or ass now, making him annoyed. 

And it’s his day off and he’s spending it at the fucking library. He’s not even a university student, just a carpenter. The company doesn’t have a job today, so they’re all home, thankfully. But instead of spending the day at home sleeping and wasting it on sleep and flicking through Netflix, he’s here. When Lukas learnt of that he had thrown a bag at Python in the early morning and told him to come. 

“Why aren’t we in your office?” Python grumbles, dangling his head back so that it hangs over the back of the chair. Upside down, students, professors, teaching assistants pass. 

“I don’t have an office and besides, the English department has new staff now.” He says. “My summer job is finished.”

“And they couldn’t lend you the boardroom or whatever? I’m certain you made an impression.”

Lukas’s eyes flicker up from his laptop. “Trust me Python, the English department is the last place we’d want to be.”

“Why? Is it gross?”

“Disgusting.”

“Didn’t know you could get so passionate.” He smirks.

Lukas shifts in his seat. He shuts the book before him and holds it out. “Could you get me another?” He asks. “The title’s on this card. Should be on the second floor.”

He forces himself to his feet. “Aye cap’n.” He grumbles, taking the book back and looking at the card. He leaves the study room, a swell of noise filling up and travelling through the hall. 

Forsyth would have been the better choice of the two. He at least went to this university and has a clue of what Lukas is looking for. Python graduated high school—barely, majority of his grades were pity passes—and took an apprenticeship in carpentry, hating it but needing the cash. The second Forsyth turned 18, Python left their little town with him. 

He climbs the stairs, wandering through the stacks for a solid five minutes until he’s annoyed. He wanders down a dark section of the library before stopping. He glances at the shelves, the book sticking out at every which angle. Libraries have always reminded him of when he was little, when Forsyth, the bookworm that his father was, would be stuck at the library in summer. He’d be hiding inside to escape his smothering mother, while Forsyth would be given a foot-long reading list by his father. 

_ Maybe that’s why he agreed to finish a diploma program or whatever the hell it is. _ Python thinks. He knows that Forsyth hated his undergrad and yet here he was, doing college now, a smaller hell than university.

And Lukas... Gods above, Python wonders if Lukas really enjoys writing stuffy papers like this. He rarely complains—only when Python stumbles in, plastered and too loud—and shoulders all the work with less than an annoyed glance. Python’s seen how long the instructions are for his papers before, almost a finger thick in length and looks like it's been written by some old dead chap.

Python stops wandering the rows when he sees a shelver’s cart in the back of the room. Thank god, a stocking assistant, he can ask them. He turns the card over in his hand before resting his elbows on the cart. “Hey, I’m looking for this book—” He chokes on the words.

He stops when the shelver turns around. Her hands turn over a few old books before finding their places on the shelf. She’s blissfully ignorant, humming to herself. A grey pleated skirt sways behind her, hiding a pair of worn faux leather boots.

Sunlight bleeds through the large window near the shelves as she raises a hand to look at the tags. Her back is turned but Python can tell that her gaze is narrowing, perhaps her lips pursing as she finds the empty spot. 

He’s been here before. Or at least been with her before. The way she walks, like she’s dancing with a spring in her step, and her body, thoughtful with movement, is so familiar. The way her skirt swings behind her, floating like the train of a robe. But he’s only seen her through drunk eyes and—

Drunk eyes.

He feels the pang of a headache, right behind his eyes. He winces audibly, catching Silque’s attention. 

“Oh. Good morning Python. Didn’t expect to see you here.” She greets with a smile. It fades a little as she notices his expression. “Are you alright? You look like you’re in pain.”

Her words bring a great swell of memory. For a second he can almost grasp it: her hands on his back and over his wrist, shouldering him into a tent—

He doesn’t want to remember. He shakes his head. She gives him an honest smile.

“I thought you were a nurse.” He says.

Her smiles fades a bit. “Only in training. I’ve still a bit of school to finish.” She says, her hands finding an old book and returning it to the shelf. She turns back to face him. “I didn’t realize you were a student as well."

“I’m not.”

“Then might I ask why you’re here?” She asks.

He holds out the card that Lukas wrote on. “Looking for this book.” She takes the card as he shoves his hands into his pockets. 

She begins to walk away from her cart, leading him down another row of shelves. “You know the university doesn’t allow out of member rentals, right?” She says. Her eyes scan the shelving units, glancing over titles and codes.

“Not for me.” He says quickly.

SIlque pulls down a book, the same title as the one on the card. “This the one?” She asks, peering closer, she begins to hand it over before pulling away from his grasp slightly. “You’re analyzing Romances?” 

“Not me. My roommate.” Python repeats, more annoyed. “He picked me as his runner for whatever reason.”

Silque nods, turning over the book before glancing up at him. She’s wearing a headband today, hidden between her bangs and sweeping strands of hair. Her hands fold over each other, the ruched cuffs of her white sweater meeting her palms. Her brow furrows. “I find it strange that our paths keep crossing.” She says, her gaze narrowing.

For a split second, Python wonders if she’s got the déjà vu like him. She steps a little closer before smiling. “Perhaps it’s some Gods’ will.” She laughs a little as she hands the book and card over to him.

She begins to walk back to her cart, her padding footsteps filling the air. What if she’s got that feeling too? Like they’ve met before, that they knew each other? What would he do then? What could he do? It would be awkward as all holy fuck. 

And he’s not a curious person like Forsyth or Lukas. Only thing that gets him marginally interested is gossip around work, everything else is small, meaningless, obsolete to him. Hell, the last time he actually got excited was when he found out that Lukas was sleeping with some undergrad.

He takes another look at her, moving back to her cart and beginning to push it back along the carpeted floor. She moves gracefully, quickly finding homes for the books. He knows that walk, the way she moves. He’s certain of it and finally, now it’s bugging him. 

Before he realizes, he’s in front of her cart, stopping her from moving. Silque looks up with curious eyes and a furrowed brow, almost shocked. 

“Hey,” He stops the cart from rolling, almost crushing his sneaker. “Give me your number.”

“Why?” She asks. “You already asked once, why now?”

He’s about to say something sarcastic, like in case he needs another drunk pick up or coffee or the like. But when he opens his mouth to speak, her eyes grow as wide as saucers and he hears Forsyth’s voice.

“Python, quit hitting on the staff!” He barks. Python sighs, rolling his eyes as Silque takes a step back from the cart. “You’re cornering the poor lady—“

Python turns around to glance at Forsyth. “Dude, I wasn’t—“

“Apologize to the shelver right now!” Forsyth cries out. A sigh escapes Python’s lips as he turns back to glance at Silque. She simpers, failing to hide her amusement. 

“Sir, it’s quite alright. Your friend and I know each other.” Silque tries to explain.

Forsyth steps past Python. “No, no. Don’t make excuses for him, he’s a lech.” Forsyth says before looking to his hands. “Have you got the book that Lukas asked for?”

“Yeah, I was just thanking Silque here—“ Python tries to say, but Forsyth bulldozes the conversation. 

“Good, go give it to him.” Forsyth jeers before turning to Silque, taking an earnest, white-knight look. He even raises a hand to his heart for good measure. “Miss, I am so sorry he bothered you—“

Silque laughs. “It’s quite alright,” she says. “We know each other.”

Forsyth’s face falls. “Gods above, I am so sorry for that.”

“ _ Hey! _ ” Python jeers in between, shoving Forsyth a little. “At least I don’t scare away girls.” 

“No no you just break their hearts after sleeping around!”

Python grumbles loudly. “Shut up Forsyth!”

Her laughter grows louder before a librarian finds them and hushes them all with a sharp  _ shh!  _ She glares at Silque, who bites down on her smirk. Forsyth turns on Python, poking him in the chest. “Look, you got Miss Silque in trouble.” He snips.

Python rolls his eyes before nodding. “Yeah I did. Sorry.” He says, half assedly. “I’m going back to Lukas’s study hole to take a nap. Thanks Silque.”

“It was no problem.” She chimes before Forsyth begins to chatter aimlessly. Python takes one glance back over his shoulder. Silque waves and gives him a smile as her poor ear is talked off by Forsyth.

Lukas’s eyes are right on Python when he finally gets back to the study room. “Find it at last?” He asks. “Forsyth popped in between classes, he went after you.”

“Yeah I know.” Python says, dropping the book and the card on the table, he slams back into his uncomfortable chair.

“Any problems?” Lukas asks.

Python shuts his eyes, thinking of how familiar Silque is; yet, he can’t recall how he knows her. “Nope.” He lies, crossing his arms over his chest.

* * *

“So do you promise?” He asks. “I think it’s fair. I promise to get better about drinking, you promise to kiss me.”

Silque’s smile fades a little, almost like she’s actually considering this offer. “When am I promising this kiss then?”

“Whenever you feel like it I guess. After a battle, when this all ends, in a decade.” He shrugs.

Her thumb pushes some of his hair back, her touch soothing his hangover better than some tried-and-true cure of raw food that will make him vomit. For a second, he thinks he would be able to quit drinking, with her as his cure. 

* * *

_ forgot my bag. _

Python stares at the text. Forsyth just dragged him through the dirt a few days ago and still hadn’t apologized. 

Not that Python’s feelings are hurt, he just wants an apology to feel like he’s right.

_ please bring it to me? I’m in the gemini building, room 391.  _ His text pleads.

He pretends to ignore it, working on the desk drawers at his work bench. He’s tempted to tell him to fuck off, that he’s at work, making the wage that pays for their shitty apartment. Maybe even threaten that texting might cost him a finger or two.

Lukas chimes in the group chat.  _ I would, but I cannot. I’m getting dinner and then studying with a friend. _

Lukas is too subtle, too muted to say that he’s meeting his undergrad girlfriend (or whatever the hell she is) for a date. Over the years, Python’s gotten to become a translator for the words he’s said: a meeting is a date, coffee is maybe a quick rendezvous between classes, tutoring is that he’s getting some, and a study session is code that he won’t be home that night. Python resists the urge to spam  _ bootycall  _ and a bunch of eggplants. 

_ it’s alright Lukas, I was just thinking Python could use his day off to do something useful. _

That’s it.  _ nit my dya off.  _ He types, his fingers slipping over the keys. The shattered screen makes it harder to type coherently _. i’m at fuckign wrok. _

That gets the chat going.  _ leave early, we all know you will. _

He grabs his phone, setting down the plywood for the drawers. He’s ready to shut off his phone until—

_ bring my bag and I’ll buy you a 24.  _

He stares at it for a minute. Forsyth knows that the saddlebags on his bike can’t hold a 24, and that Lukas is tired of giving him rides to the liquor store and waiting while he unloads the empties to pay for a new batch of beer. 

_ fine  _ He types back.

He finishes up the drawers and tarps them before leaving for the university. He takes his bike, glancing up at the autumn sky. No rain clouds above, thank gods. Though, the rain has never really bothered him, aside from a wet seat and clothes. 

He boots on home, finding Forsyth’s book bag left right in the hallway by the mirror. How could he forget the only thing he needs? He throws it over his shoulder, slams the door and ignores his neighbour that complains he is too loud and that his younger sister needs quiet. 

(Funny, Python can hear them at 6 and 10 every night fighting about her eating her vegetables and going to bed.)

Back out to the bike and a twenty minute ride back to the university. Along the way, he finds himself thinking of Silque. How does he know her? He swears that he does, that they met before. Maybe she was some no-face back in his hometown?

No. Forsyth would know her then, he’s got a memory for faces and names. It’s the most important thing about a person. He’d said Remembering a name is simple and noble.

Noble. It’s 2020. Nobility belongs in medieval fairytales. 

The light turns from green to red, he eases on the brake and his foot meeting the pavement. He stops, watching as traffic begins to slow and pass. The city lights glimmer, almost like constellations.

Another wave of déjà vu hits him, harder this time. Lying beneath a blanket of stars, staring up at them with the warmth of a fire nearby. The light changes just as quick, a car honking it’s horn behind him.

He lifts his foot from the ground and the bike boots along. He focuses on the road, trying to fight off the feeling as best as he can. Inside his helmet, tunnel vision forces him back. He knows her, he’s met her before. He knows her—

Before he knows it, he’s at the university. Python parks in the visitors lot, pulling the key from the ignition and almost ripping his helmet from his head. It’s suffocating. He pulls out his shattered phone to try and look up where the hell Gemini building is, but the map is unreadable on his fucked up screen. 

“Looking for something?”

Another wave hits him, almost pulling him out to a sea of memory. Sitting up in front of fire, out in the middle of nowhere where they can see a thousand glittering stars above. And she’s in some white robes, like an angel. 

He fights it off. Although, he wants to try and understand what the hell this is, who the hell she is to him. “Hey Silky.” Python forces his voice to be level, calm. “Didn’t realize you were here.”

“It’s just Silque if you please, Python.” She says with a smile, a laugh hiding in her voice. It’s all so familiar. “I feel like someone above is lacing our paths together.” 

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He mumbles.

“So why are you here? And so late in the afternoon.” She asks. It’s barely even that; the sun is almost gone, wrapping everything in golden hour, when day and night intersect. 

He lifts the bag off his shoulder, gripping the strap in his hands. “Dropping off my roommate’s bag.”

“The one who you were running books for or the one who yelled at you?” She asks with a growing smile.

“The last one.” He says. “Hey, you know where the Gemini building is? I’ve got no clue.”

She nods. “Yes I do. Here, I’ll walk you to it.” She says, beginning to walk ahead of him. Another wave: long white robes, a forest trail, a dirty veil, a bow in his hand with a quiver on his hip and silence as they look for something.

He wants to ask, desperately. He wants to call out if she’s—

Silque looks over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“So are you doing this as a favour?” She asks. 

He stops. How can he tell her that he’s only doing this for a 24 of beer? He nods, following her lax steps and wondering just who the _hell_ she is to him.

* * *

Her brow furrows slightly, setting little wrinkles about her entire face. Her lips part. “I feel like I’ve been here with you before.”

“You have though.” He smirks.

“No no.” She shakes her head, her brow crinkling further. “Like this. With your head in my lap and...” She shakes her head before glancing at him, turning back to their deal. “A kiss for improvement?”

“Yes.” He agrees. "Sacred as a vow."

The air grows still. 

* * *

Forsyth gets his bag finally. He promises the case and Python knows that he’s good to his word. Though, he will get an earful from him when he gets the beer but being honest, Python doesn’t care. He'll wear a beanie and throw in some plugs from work.  


When he slips back outside, Silque’s waiting for him. She glances back to his hand, the helmet in it. “Did you bike here?” She asks, following him back down the stairs. 

“Yeah. Finished work when he texted.”

“ _ You _ have a job?”

“What, did you think I’m a total slacker?” He teases as their footsteps thud through the stairwell.

“No, no not that. You seem young. To have a career in this economy is...” She’s beside him now. 

“I’m 25 Silky. What are you, 19?”

Her head dips a little. “Right on.” She confesses before glancing to him with a guilty little smile.

They step outside of the building, night almost fallen. “I’m going this way.” She says, her footsteps beginning to drift from his. She gives him another little smile.

Before he realizes it, he moves closer to her. “Hey, no I’ll give you a ride.” He says.

She blinks twice. “Really?”

“Yeah, my bike’s just around the corner.” He says before muttering something under his breath about how walking at night is dangerous or some shit. He can’t believe that he’s offering. He feels like he’s offered her a ride before, though he knows he hasn’t. The déjà vu is hitting harder than usual. 

“You’ve got a motorcycle?”

He nods. “Another helmet too.” He says, lifting up the helmet in his hand. “C’mon. Payback for everything so far.”

Silque nods hesitatingly before following him. There’s a little silence between them as they reach the lot. It’s not uncomfortable, not in the least. But the wandering thoughts of  _ who is she to me _ crash around in his head. Python snags the other helmet out the saddlebag and offers it to her.

“How do I put it on?” She asks. He thuds his over his head, slipping the visor up to look at her. 

He holds his hands out. “Pass it.” He says. Silque steps closer, dipping her head little so that he can pull it over her head. She looks ridiculous with it on. 

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before.” She confesses, apprehension lingering in her voice.

“I promise we won’t crash.” He jokes sitting down, taking her tote bag from her and placing it in one of the saddlebags. He clips it shut and glances back to her. She sits down behind him. “Where to?”

“401 Hideaway lane,” she says as the engine starts. Her arms immediately circle around his waist, linking her hands together in a tight grip. Her helmet rests against his shoulder as she holds tight.

He’s  _ been  _ here before. He  _ knows  _ her. He swallows hard, hits the kickstand with his work boot and the bike takes off with a start that makes her grip flinch.

* * *

And then, she bows her head and kisses him on the lips. It’s soft, quick and gentle, just how Python thought it would be like. He reaches to touch the edge of her hair, his hand resting on the nape of her neck as she presses her forehead against his. She bites her bottom lip. “There.” Silque says, her face flush. “Now keep your promise. And make sure it is sacred, as you say.”

* * *

Within a few minutes, he finds 401 Hideaway lane. It’s a small complex, three stories high with a garden growing off of one of the balconies. He hits the kickstand, pulling his helmet off. “We’re here.”

Silque pulls her head up from his shoulder. Her hands unlock from their death grip around his stomach. She sits back, her breath fogging up the visor of the helmet. She tries to force it off, the helmet pinging off with a second, her head bobbing backwards. Her blue hair sticks up with static and he fights a smirk.

“Thank you for the ride. I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t scared.” She confesses.

“First time right?” She nods. “No surprise then.”

She hands him back the helmet as he throws it back into the saddlebag. “Thanks for the ride. I really do appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He murmurs. “Take care.”

Silque turns away, towards the apartment complex. Memories hit him again, but instead of a door, he sees open, rolling plains, dusted with snow. And she’s wearing a long robe with a cowl around her head, covering her baby blue hair. She turns on her heel, facing him again. Her gaze is narrowed. In the lamplight, he can see her lips part, her hair turning the colour of blanched starlight. “It’s funny, I swear I’ve been with you here before.” Silque confesses. 

His gaze narrows. So it’s not just him. 

She laughs, a sweet little thing. “Though that’s silly. We’ve only known each other for a few days.” She says, shaking her head. “Surely I’m going crazy.”

“No, I feel like I’ve been here with you too.” Python finds himself saying. Her eyes grow a little wide, one of her hands clenching around the tote. She swallows hard before taking a step back. He stares at her, needing to know if she’s faking it or if she’s being honest. Even if it hurts. “Did you get a feeling of déjà vu when we talked?”

She nods. “Many times. At the party. The cafe and the library too. When we were walking to the parking lot. Just now, when I turned my back to you.” Her gaze narrows. She stands a little taller. “Do you believe in past lives? Reincarnation?”

He shrugs. “Not really.”

“Well I do. We discussed it in a world religion class that I took some years ago. There once were gods who walked the land and took life, just as they gave it. And occasionally, they’d make people reborn in another life.”

“You think that happened to us?” Python asks.

Silque shrugs. “It would at least give us an answer.” She says, “Something to quell the nagging questions, right?”

He nods as she raises a hand in a quick farewell and begins to walk back to the door of the apartment complex. The memory swells again, the woman--a healer he guesses--raises her hand as well. And this time, he hears her voice, the same as Silque’s giving him some blessing. 

_ (May you always walk in the light of Mila’s blessing.) _

He  _ can’t  _ let her go. He doesn’t know when he’ll see her again,  _ if  _ he’ll see her again. Python forces himself up from the bike, diving into his pocket. “Hey, can I get your number?” He asks, taking a few steps closer. She turns back.

“Are you going to laugh at my flip phone again?” Silque asks. 

He shakes his head. “Nah. Once was enough for me.” He says, holding out his phone to her. “Besides, it’d be better to have someone in this with me. Whatever the hell it is.”

She gives him a little smile before taking his phone from his hands. She types in her number, staring at the shattered screen. She tsks. “Still not fixed?” She asks.

“No time, little budget.”

“I know someone who can get this fixed up for you.” She says, looking up with a playful grin. “I’ll send you his information.”

“Promise?” Python asks, raising a brow. 

Silque smiles again, handing his phone back to him. “I promise. As sacred as a vow.”

**Author's Note:**

> been in my wips for a while and idk. there's just smth fun abt a reincarnation au, esp with a college backdrop. and giving silque a flip phone (heyo i had a blackberry until 2019 so i feel girl) and python a shitty motorcycle is fun; 2020 is the year i make shit for me.  
> something something the classics are comforts something. i don't think i'll return to this anytime soon but who knows... bonus points if you can figure out everyone mentioned!  
> a lot of this work was inspired by my buddy taz's doodles, pls give her some love! her artblog is here: https://hiimtaz.tumblr.com/  
> as always, thanks for reading ❤❤❤


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